Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life.
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